After Roland had fallen asleep, the nightingale emerged from the mist, gently straightened his quilt to cover his exposed arms, then stood by the bed watching in silence for a moment before slipping silently through the floorboards back to her room.
"You're not asleep yet?" The Nightingale was slightly surprised to see Wendy still sitting by the bedside reading.
"Scare you into making mistakes!" Wendy glared at her. "Your Highness isn't a child—does she really need to be watched until she falls asleep?" "Your Highness has already sent messengers to other towns to spread rumors about a Witch organization here. What if some Witch who hears the news tries to harm Your Highness? I'm just being safe." Nightingale grabbed a damp towel and wiped her face casually. She then unfastened her red sash, removed her leather wrist armor, unfastened her belt buckle, and finally shed her white robes—this outfit was Your Royal Highness's latest creation. Though the stark white hooded jacket looked utterly out of place, he believed it suited an assassin perfectly.
The nightingale carefully hung the garment, smoothing every crease. Her well-proportioned figure was enveloped in a sheer fabric, with no trace of excess fat visible on her firm abdomen and thighs.
"What's there to be surprised about?" Wendy set down the book. "The sisters live in the castle, and guards patrol outside. Besides, didn't you stuff stones under his pillow? You never touched that sort of thing before." "Well, I was just trying to keep him safe," she said, sitting down by the bed. She took off her boots, lifted her long legs together, and flipped over to Wendy's side.
"Did you even hear what I said last time?" Wendy sighed. "Veronica, we're witches." "I know," Wendy nodded. "We're witches." And Your Royal Highness would marry a witch—that was his own words, and... he didn't lie.
Of course, the Nightingale wouldn't divulge this intelligence unless absolutely necessary. After silently apologizing to Wendy, she shifted the conversation: "Do you still have any recollection of the Church?" "Why bring this up suddenly?" Wendy was taken aback.
"Your Highness, when you were in the castle, the high priest came to visit and offered his support for you to claim the throne." "How did he respond?" Her voice grew tense. "Or did he send you out before the conversation?" Nightingale shook her head with a smile and said softly, "He simply instructed me to avoid the area of the Devil's Stone. And Your Highness himself didn't wear it temporarily. Wendy, Your Highness didn't accept the Church's invitation—he refused them." The latter let out a sigh of relief, then seemed a bit melancholic, "Unfortunately, our help to Your Highness is quite limited, unlike the Church whose influence spans the entire continent. If Roland Your Highness had agreed to their terms, he might have ascended the throne soon..." "Who knows," Your Highness said, "the high priest spouted nonsense that's completely unbelievable." Nightingale paused. "But there's one thing I'm concerned about." She recounted the red-black pill incident. "In the mist, the pill shares the same color as God's Stone of Punishment—it's utterly bizarre. The sisters have all witnessed the consequences of swallowing God's Stone of Punishment, which is no different from suicide. The high priest claims it's a drug developed by the Holy City's God's Prayer Chamber. Did you ever hear of this institution when you were in the monastery?" When the Guild of Mutual Aid departed from Silverlight City, Hakkara had led Nightingale, Windchaser, and Stone Maiden to set traps for the bounty hunters who trailed them. They exacted their revenge by forcing the bounty hunters to swallow the God's Stone of Punishment they wore. The bounty hunters who swallowed the God's Stone of Punishment would die instantly, their bodies shriveling like dehydrated fish in the scorching sun.
"I don't know," Wendy closed her eyes and spoke slowly. "Ever since I can remember, I've lived in the monasteries of the Old Holy City. The walls surround it completely, offering no view beyond the sky. My daily activities were confined to the courtyard, where I learned to read and recognize images under the guidance of the abbess. I still remember her name—Farian. Among the books she read to us was one dedicated to the Old Holy City, describing its churches, monasteries, libraries, memorials, and the Wall of Heroes, but never mentioning the God Prayer Room. I lived in the monastery for over a decade until that accident..." Nightingale had heard Wendy mention the monastery's past attacks by witches, which claimed many lives. She herself had escaped during the chaos, though she couldn't recall which witch had dared to challenge the Church alone. "Though I don't know which witch had the courage to do so, she saved you at least." "No, Veronica," Wendy shook her head. "The witches came from the Church. Like me, she was a member of the monastery." "What...?" "Girls living in the monastery fall into three categories: those like me, who've stayed here since childhood and don't know their origins; orphans or street children adopted by churches and sent here; or those sold to the Church by their parents. The administrators separate them by age, placing them in different dormitories with tailored training. The youngest learn to read, those aged ten to fourteen study hymns, and those over fourteen learn rituals." Therefore, the abbess also referred to us as the literacy class, while the older ones were called the choir and the liturgical class. Once the women in the liturgical class reached adulthood, they would be sent away from the convent." These were the first times she had heard such accounts—Wendy had never previously detailed her experiences in the convent.
In the early years, girls 'screams could often be heard at night—coming from the choir and the liturgical class. I didn't quite understand what was going on at first. It wasn't until I joined the choir that I realized the Church's adults would visit the dormitory at night, dragging a few girls from their beds and not returning them until daylight. Sometimes... they might not even bring them back. The Nightingale bit her lip, knowing exactly what Wendy meant.
"This happens once or twice a month, sometimes almost every two days. Later, when I was selected, Farian dragged me out of the room and whispered in my ear, 'Just hold on a little longer.' She led me to a half-buried chamber in the garden corner, where lights burned brightly. A priestess was shackled to the wall, with four or five men..." Her voice trembled slightly. "As they approached, the woman suddenly broke free from her chains and strangled the closest man, killing him like a chicken being torn apart." "She... awakened?" "I don't know," Wendy shook her head. "Though stripped naked, they still wore the God's Stone. She killed them one by one, severing the limbs of one man while he was still alive. Before dying, he seemed to say... 'The Extraordinary.' The adults 'screams alerted the guards and Farian outside. When they burst through the iron gate, they were stunned by the scene—the woman lunged straight at them." "The Extraordinary... refers to witches?" Nightingale asked. "The guards weren't her match?" "The gap was too wide. Later I learned those guards were the Inquisition Army. One whistled, another drew his sword. By the time the first whistle ended, the Inquisition Army blocking their path had already been pierced through the chest by her hand. The Church's standard armor looked like paper before her."